


Finding Home

by icandrawamoth



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxious Bodhi Rook, Bodhi Rook Needs a Hug, Conversations, Cooking, Dinner, Gen, Married Chirrut Îmwe/Baze Malbus, Rogue Robin 2017, inferred bad home life, roguerobin005
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 08:46:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10941024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: Baze and Chirrut work at a university and are concerned for student Bodhi. After finding him walking home in the rain, they invite him over for dinner and offer a refuge.





	Finding Home

**Author's Note:**

> Written for jedifest's Rogue Robin round three, this fic is a continuation of [Going Home by aeremaee](http://jedifest.tumblr.com/post/158317516374/going-home-roguerobin005) and [Going Home by theweddingofthefoxes](http://jedifest.tumblr.com/post/159564322743/part-2-of-callsign-roguerobin005-going-home).

Bodhi hesitates in the entryway as if still unsure of his welcome even after all that Chirrut and Baze have said.

“Go on,” Baze insists gently, nudging him forward.

“I'll start dinner,” Chirrut says as he heads for the kitchen. “Baze, darling, find the boy a towel?”

Bodhi toes off his shoes and takes a few hesitant steps inside.

“Sit, make yourself at home,” Baze tells him, gesturing to the living room. “Let me hang up your coat.”

He does so as the boy moves further into the appointment and tentatively perches on a chair. Baze comes back with a big, fluffy blue towel and hands it to him.

“Thank you.” Bodhi wipes his face and dries his hair. “It really was nasty out there, so I appreciate you picking me up.”

“Not a problem,” Baze reiterates as he sits down in an armchair across form him.

Bodhi finishes drying off, and they sit in awkward silence for a long moment.

Baze wants to ask him so many questions, but not the kinds of things you just bring up cold in a conversation. Things like _are you okay?_ and _do you need help?_ and _what can I do?_

“You have a very nice house,” Bodhi says softly after awhile. He runs a hand across the deep red couch cushion beneath him, looks around at the decorations.

Baze smiles warmly. “It's all Chirrut's fault,” he says. “You should see the kitchen; it's his pride and joy.”

“I heard that!” Chirrut calls from the other room. “You two come on in here.”

Baze leads the way, Bodhi trailing behind him. “Wow,” is the boy's response, eyes widening at the shiny appliances and stacks of cooking implements and ingredients. “I've never seen anything like this.”

“Good food is good for the soul,” Chirrut says as he bustles about preparing their dinner. “A nice kitchen is something to take pride in.”

Bodhi takes a deep breath, inhaling the delicious smells coming form the pot boiling merrily away on the stove. “We never have anything like this at home. My mom is usually too busy to actually cook.” His cheeks go bright red as if he's said too much, and he ducks his head.

“She works a lot?” Baze asks, going for casual.

Bodhi nods hesitantly. “She does long hours at this factory. A lot of the time she's not home, and when she is, she's not always in the best mood.” He chews on his lip, eyes faraway.

Chirrut turns from the stove and touches his arm. “Well, we're glad to have you here, Bodhi, whenever you'd like a proper meal. We have them all the time.”

Bodhi still looks unsure, as if he just can't understand this kind of outreach, but he nods briefly and murmurs, “Thank you.”

“So what are your favorite foods?” Baze asks in an attempt the lighten the mood. “Chirrut is forever trying to make me eat healthy, so I don't get to have mine very often.”

“Someone has to keep you from putting yourself in the grave with a heart attack,” Chirrut mutters, stirring the ragu.

Bodhi lets out a tiny laugh and proceeds to answer the question, telling them all about the dishes his father used to make when he was a child and the things he sometimes has at family gatherings. Baze gets the distinct impression his father is no longer around but doesn't ask about it. Bodhi finally seems more comfortable, and he doesn't want to bring him down again.

Soon the food is ready, and they move to the table. Chirrut sets the steaming pot in the middle as Baze pours three glasses of milk.

“That looks amazing,” Bodhi says with wide eyes. He's practically salivating.

Chirrut grins. “Thank you, Bodhi. Help yourself to as much as you'd like.”

Bodhi bashfully takes a few scoops, and Baze insists, “As much as you like, Bodhi. You're a growing boy; you need sustenance.”

Bodhi gives that tiny smile again and takes a little more before he passes the serving spoon to Baze. As he serves himself, he watches out of the corner of his eye as the boy digs in ravenously, then clearly tries to slow himself down in order to enjoy what he's eating.

For a while the room is silent as the three of them eat, then Chirrut breaks the silence with, “I take it it tastes as good as it smells?” He grins.

“Yes!” Bodhi exclaims, his mouth still full of food, and blushes. He swallows and murmurs an apology, the flush deepening when the older two men laugh.

“That is perhaps the best compliment,” Chirrut tells him with a smile.

The ice broken once again, they continue from there. Baze and Chirrut discuss their day at work and Bodhi is occasionally persuaded to add his own stories. They discuss his studies, how much he enjoys them even though it's sometimes hard.

When they're finished, Bodhi insists on being allowed to help clean up, and they let him. “I'll set you up with some leftovers,” Chirrut says, and before Bodhi can protest, Baze is there adding, “There's more than enough left.”

“Thank you,” is what Bodhi says, gladly accepting a heaping container. A moment later, he's chewing his lip again. “I really should go home. Mom will worry if she gets back and I'm not there. Plus I have homework...”

“You could do it here,” Baze offers. “It's not like we're going to rush you out now that we're done eating.”

“Wouldn't that kind of be cheating, having the teacher right here?” Bodhi asks, and there's a smile playing at the edge of his lips.

“He has a point,” Chirrut chuckles. “But, honestly, Bodhi, if you want to stay, stay.”

Bodhi looks down, self-consciously scuffing a toe across the carpet. “I really do need to go. It's even stopped raining; I can walk back before it starts again.”

“I meant it when I said we wouldn't make you walk,” Baze huffs. Again before Bodhi can protest he adds, “I know it's not that far, but it's not a big deal, really.”

“Okay,” Bodhi agrees softly.

“That's settled, then,” Chirrut says. “I'll stay here and finish getting everything cleaned up. I'll see you at school tomorrow, Bodhi.”

“See you. And thanks again for everything, Mr. Îmwe.”

“Don't mention it.” Chirrut gives the boy a little wave as he and Baze leave the room.

Baze retrieves Bodhi's coat for him, and a few moments later, they're back in the car. As they pull away, Baze steels himself and starts in on the speech he's been planning since they first arrived. “Bodhi. It was no problem at all having you over tonight; I want you to know that. Chirrut and I both enjoyed it. We want you to know that you can come over whenever you want. If you need anything, we're here for you. All right?”

Bodhi is silent, and Baze looks over at him, feels his heart squeeze when he catches sight of the boy's face: he looks overcome.

“Bodhi...?”

Bodhi blinks and makes himself look over at him. “Thank you, Mr. Malbus,” he murmurs. “I really appreciate that. Thank you.”

Baze smiles, trying to console him somehow. “I can see that things are hard for you, and you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but when you need somewhere to go or someone to listen, we're here.”

Bodhi's small smile is full of gratitude as they pull to a stop in front of his apartment complex.

“Let me give you my phone number,” Baze says before he can get out, and types it in when Bodhi hands over his cell. “Have a good night, okay?”

“Okay.” When Bodhi looks at him before getting out of the car, his smile is still small but seems more genuine than Baze has ever seen it.


End file.
